Moments
by LatinaGurl96
Summary: Random Mikita moments. No particular order and all 'time periods' apply.
1. Different

**I'm BAAAACK! haha, ok this is my first attempt at a Nikita fic. I absolutely LOVE Michael and Nikita, they are perfect together!**

**Disclaimer: I under no circumstances, own NIKITA.**

**Story: My take of the end scene of 01x17 - Covenants.**

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><p>"You were right," he whispered softly. The amount of empty space in the loft echoed his statement, allowing Nikita to hear him. With a deep breath, she took a few more steps toward him.<p>

"No-"

"Yeah," Michael interrupted. "You were right." And they both knew it. He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to gather his thoughts, and when they opened, she was standing right in front of him. Her eyes were filled with concern. Worry, guilt, sorrow. Forgiveness. After everything he had put her through, she didn't walk away. She still trusted him.

And that made him the luckiest man in the world.

Neither one of them trusted easily. With all the bad hands the world had dealt them throughout their lives, they both resolved to keep to themselves. Then Nikita had been recruited at Division, Michael being her trainer. Time passed and he began to care for her more than he should have. And everyone else noticed. Protecting her from Percy's doubt, comforting her after her 'sessions' with Amanda, and defending her in the field. They both knew each other better than anyone else and as a result, began to fall in love.

The only thing was that Nikita began to question the Black Ops group, and Michael was as loyal to them as ever. That and Division's number one rule: no relationships. If they got caught, they'd both be cancelled and dying was not in either's five year plan. Michael, being Division's second-in-command, did not allow anything to transpire between them. And when Nikita had gone rogue, asking him to go with her, he said no. He couldn't leave Division, he had thought. It was all he had left.

So a broken-hearted Nikita left his apartment, disappearing for three years.

"If I had just listened to you five years ago," Michael continued, making Nikita look at him in slight confusion. His eyes trailed over her face, guilt consuming him at the sight of the bruises she'd received earlier. He had sent her on this mission, he knew it was dangerous. Yet, he allowed his anger to consume him… and she paid the price. "Things could've been different," he finished, looking down.

Had he continued making eye contact with her, Michael would've seen the hurt in Nikita's eyes. She thought things had already changed, that they were already different. Finding out that it was not Kasim who killed his family, but Percy- the man he swore his loyalty to- had to have changed things. Realizing at last that Division was a lie and corrupt was supposed to make things different. It seemed like it hadn't though…

Nodding slightly, Nikita swallowed roughly, looking at him. "Things will be different," she promised, heart torn the same way it had been when she ran away three years ago. Michael glanced up at her just as she was turning away; he couldn't see her expression, but he could hear it in her voice. The hurt, the disappointment, and the surrender. She was giving up. On them. She had waited for him for five years and his words made it seem like there was no hope for them. No possible future where they would be together.

_No._

He would not let her walk away, he wouldn't lose her the way he did three years ago. She wasn't getting away from him, not again. After two years of longing, three of loneliness, and nearly another of angst, they could finally have each other. And Michael would not let that opportunity go. Not without a fight.

Before she took a step away, he closed the space between them, pulling her face back towards him and attacking her lips with his own. The kiss, filled with such passion and fire, lasted only three seconds but said an eternity of words. Nikita pulled back, gazing into his eyes with an awestruck expression. And, as always, their eyes spoke a multitude of words to each other.

_I'm sorry._

_I know._

_I should've listened._

_It's in the past._

_I'm here now._

_Don't ever leave._

_**I love you…**_

Their lips met again, slower this time, as if savoring the moment, committing it to memory to remember forever. But the gentleness could not, and did not, last for long. The same passion and fire returned, stronger than ever before. Hoisting her up, Michael pressed her against the wall, not breaking contact. Things were going to be different, but not that much than they already were.

Michael and Nikita had loved each other for a long time. The only thing different about yesterday and today was the fact that they actually expressed that feeling. And it was about time.

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><p>Review please!<p> 


	2. Sick

**Disclaimer: Yeah, don't own Nikita.**

**Story: Back when Nikita was still working for Division, but after she becomes an agent.**

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><p>Loud coughs echoed throughout Michael's apartment, the sunlight not helping with his headache. Blowing his nose, he groaned in annoyance. He absolutely <em>hated<em> getting sick. The 'yucky' feeling, the pain in your chest, the pounding of your head… it felt like a total out of body experience to him. He had called in sick earlier, Birkhoff had a laughing fit when Michael had told him (in a stuffy voice) that he was under the weather. Long story short, Birkhoff teased, Michael threatened, end of story.

Of course, Percy was more than willing to give Michael as much time off as he needed to get better. There was no need for him to come in if he was sick. He was good at his job; he never missed a day of work, always completed missions, trained the recruits well, and was extremely loyal. Percy told him to relax and get better and under no circumstances come in to work until Monday, at least a week, that way he wouldn't give the recruits whatever it was he had. Michael had a strong suspicion that was the _only_ reason he was given time off.

Now, he was ready to just take a long nap and try to sleep this thing off. With a loud sigh, he leaned back into the couch, much too exhausted to get to his room. His eyes closed, sleep overtaking him-

Four loud knocks to the door made him jump slightly, glaring at the door from his point of view. He rolled his eyes, maybe if he was quiet, whoever it was would leave. With that in mind, he moved to his side, facing the backrest of the couch. It was silent for a while, and as the Division trainer began to drift off to sleep again, more knocks sounded. Michael growled under his breath. He couldn't catch a break.

He was not getting up. Not a chance. He was tired, he was _sick_, and he had about enough. His gun was on the coffee table, if he had to, he'd shoot whoever was knocking through the door. Silence once again, until the creak of a door opening sounded-

Wait, what?

Jumping up and grabbing the gun, he aimed at the doorway, about ready to fire-

"Michael, Michael, it's me!" Nikita exclaimed, holding both hands up in 'surrender'. Michael stared at her for a moment, the gun still up.

"Nikita?"

"My gosh, you sound awful," she said, referring to his stuffy and nasally voice. She lowered her hands and closing the door behind her. The gun now on the coffee table, Michael held his head.

"Nikita, what are you doing here?" he asked. She smiled sheepishly and made her way towards him.

"I came to check on you. Birkhoff said you were sick, and I wanted to make sure you were ok," she explained, sitting him back down on the couch. With a roll of his eyes, Michael pulled the blanket back over his shoulders like a shawl and sent her a pointed look.

"I'm not ok. I'm _sick_," he stated. Nikita laughed slightly at his statement.

"Yes… but I'm here to help you get better."

Michael sent her another look, this one more of 'are-you-serious?' than the last one. "Nikita, I don't need to be babysat," he countered. Nikita crossed her arms, and stuck one hip out. Her face was serious, but her eyes gleamed with the thought of a challenge.

"Oh really? Then tell me Michael, did you drink medicine?" she asked. Michael paused, glaring up at her. She grinned in victory, and pushed him to lie back down on the couch. "Just relax and rest. I'll take care of everything," she assured. "And of you."

"Yay," Michael said with sarcastic joy. Nikita only shook her head at him before sauntering off to the kitchen. Michael shut his eyes closed and sighed to himself. He had a feeling this was going to be a long week.

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><p>"I hate tea."<p>

"I don't care. Drink it."

"Let me think about that, umm…_NO_!"

"Michael, I swear if you do not drink this tea, I will knock you out, tie you down, then force you to drink it through a funnel! Now drink the tea!"

There was a pause. A defeated sigh. "Give me the damn cup," Michael muttered, holding his hand out. A smirk grew on Nikita's face as she handed it to him. With a wince, he swallowed it in one gulp before forcing the cup back into Nikita's hands.

"Was that so bad?" she asked. His face said it all, no words were needed. "Michael, it'll help you get better."

"Doubtful," he mumbled, sinking into his bed sheets. His back had gotten stiff from sleeping on the couch for several hours, so with Nikita's help, he moved to his room and was laying on his bed. Nikita's face grew solemn.

"It always worked when my mom gave it to me," she said softly. So soft, that Michael almost didn't hear her.

"Your mom?" He didn't know much about Nikita's past, only enough to realize she was in Division for a reason. Every recruit had a dark, sad past and a lot of 'dirty laundry', as Amanda called it. Bringing his mind back to the present, he focused in on her eyes. There were unshed tears gathering, and she looked so upset…

To his surprise, a small, but weak, laugh came from her lips. "Yeah, she uh… she would always take care of me when I was sick. Even if she had something important to do at work that day… she'd always call off and stay with me. Gave me tea, medicine…love…" She looked away as tears started coming down, her hair hiding her face. Michael didn't know why but it pained him. It hurt to see her cry, but it hurt even more to see that she felt weak because of it. "I uh- I'm going to go…start making lunch," she whispered. As she moved to get up, Michael captured her wrist in his hand and held tightly, not letting her leave. She looked back at him, eyes clouded with confusion. "Michael?"

"You're not alone Nikki," he promised, not needing to explain further. She fully understood what he was saying. With a small smile and nod, she replied;

"I know."

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><p>"Where do you think you're going?" Nikita demanded as she walked into Michael's room. He looked at her through the mirror briefly, before continuing to fix his tie.<p>

"Work," he answered simply. Crossing her arms, Nikita scoffed.

"Really? What makes you think that?"

Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. "Nikita, it's ok. I feel fine, better yet, I feel great," he assured, moving to his closet to get a jacket. Nikita sidestepped, now directly in front of him, arms still crossed and still unconvinced. "Nikita, I am telling you, I'm OK. Your tea must've worked."

Nikita rolled her eyes. "Michael, you're not ok. Well, maybe a little bit, but not one hundred percent! This always happens; you think you're fine, you feel great. Then you go out, do your regular stuff, then you're sick again! No work today," she ordered. Michael rolled his eyes and walked past her, getting his jacket.

"You know, you could've made a great mom," he teased. Nikita watched as he put the jacket on and began to look for socks.

"Ok, if you have to go, then go. But at least have one more cup of tea. For my sake?" He glanced at her and nodded reluctantly. She left the room and returned about a minute later with a steaming cup of tea. As always, he drank it all in one gulp.

"There. Happy?" he asked. Nikita smiled.

"Michael, you have no idea." He was about to ask what she meant by that when he was suddenly very tired and dizzy. He stumbled to the bed, taking deep breaths. Nikita went over to him. "You might want to lie down," she said softly, helping him lay back.

"My head…" Michael began.

"I know… sleeping pills," Nikita informed. Michael's eyes widened as he looked up at her.

"You...you drugged me?" He didn't have time to hear a response as his eyes closed, signifying he fell asleep, and soft snores emitted from him. Nikita sighed and picked up the mug from his dresser. Looking back at him, she noticed he still had his tie on and thought it would probably be a good idea to take it off so he would choke himself to death in his sleep. Placing the mug back down, she went to him and carefully removed his tie.

"Sweet dreams," she whispered, before turning and leaving, taking the mug with her. She shut the lights off and left, leaving her trainer to sleep.

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><p>"You drugged me." It was a simple statement, but the anger was evident in his voice.<p>

"Sleep well?" Nikita asked, flipping through her book. Her attempt to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal didn't work. Michael stood directly in front of her, arms crossed. He was still wearing his suit, although it looked very less professional and much more recreational as it was all wrinkled, misplaced, and just not right.

"You _drugged _me," he repeated, looking down at her.

"And don't you feel better than you did this morning?" Nikita questioned, not looking up from her book. She didn't have to look at him to know his face had lost all anger. She had been right, he wasn't entirely healthy that morning and the pill-induced nap proved it.

"How long was I out?" he finally asked.

"A few hours, maybe four or five," she said, closing her book and looking up at him. Michael nodded before sitting next to her.

"Thanks," he said after a while. Nikita turned to him.

"I told you Michael. I'm going to take care of you."

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><p>With a start, Nikita awoke, panicking when she didn't recognize her surroundings. With further investigation, and her head clearing from sleep-fog, she let out a sigh of relief when she realized where she was. Michael's living room. She laid back on the couch, pulling the blankets back up to her chest. The storm outside continued relentlessly, probably got worse than it was…what time was it? 3:30 am… five hours ago. Hearing the thunder and pouring rain, and seeing the lightning, Michael had forbidden Nikita to leave that night and insisted she'd sleep in his room.<p>

"You're sick," she had told him a million times. "I'll sleep on the couch."

She was glad she had agreed to stay. According to the ten o'clock news, the streets had begun to flood and trees were falling over. A crack of lightning suddenly struck and Nikita jumped slightly, wincing at the noise it made. Even though it sounded like World War III out there, Nikita could still hear Michael snore loudly. How did he sleep through this? And how could one man snore so loud? Another flash of lightning, followed by a deafening thunder. Nikita whimpered softly. She had always hated thunderstorms, had ever since she was a kid. And even though she was a Black-Ops assassin, she was still terrified at that moment.

More lightening, more thunder. Rain coming down hundreds of gallons a second. When would it end?

"Nikita?" a male voice said softly. Looking over to the hallway, she could see the silhouette of a tall man coming towards her. "You awake?"

Sitting up so he could see her more clearly, she nodded. "Yeah… yeah, I'm awake." She swung her legs off the couch and sat forward, giving him a place to sit. "You ok?" she wondered. Michael sat next to her, rubbing his temples.

"I'm fine. Storm woke me up though."

"You too, huh?"

"Yeah." His voice trailed off as he looked at her. "What about you? Are _you_ ok?" Always the skillful actress, she waved her hand as if to say there was no problem. That she was fine and not scared. Lightning struck once more, illuminating the room briefly, and seconds after came the thunder. Nikita jumped slightly, then silently cursed her fear of storms. "Riiight…" Michael said. Sighing, Nikita buried her face in her hands.

"Please don't," she pleaded. Michael wrapped an arm around, bringing her to him as they leaned back on the couch together, with Nikita lying on top of him and his back resting on the couch cushions. Their legs tangled together as Nikita hid her face in his chest, Michael rubbing her back gently. It was moments like this that made being in Division worthwhile, they both thought. But it was something they would never tell the other.

"Nikita, it's OK to be scared. Everyone has different fears, it doesn't make them weak," he said softly. Nikita laughed.

"Don't let Amanda hear you say that," she teased. Michael laughed before turning his head away from her and coughing harshly. Nikita tensed, looking up at him. "Come on Michael, go back to sleep," she suggested once his coughs quieted. "You need your rest." His head suddenly lulled back, but his arms remained around her like a vice. She looked back at him and, now that her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, could see that his eyes were closed. "Michael?" No response. "Michael." She tried moving out of his grasp, but his hold on her tightened. She rolled her eyes. "Michael, this isn't funny." A loud and obviously fake snore came from his lips, causing Nikita to laugh. She tried pushing herself off of his chest, but his grip was too strong. "Michael, let go!"

"Just go to sleep Nikita," he finally said. One of his eyes opened to look up at her. "Don't worry, I'll protect you from the lightening," he teased lightly. His reward was a playful punch to the arm before she settled back into his arms. They both fell asleep shortly after, Michael not coughing and Nikita not being afraid.

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><p><strong>So, what do you think? Kind of OCC, I know. But still, I thought it's kinda cute...<strong>

**Review please! I _feed_ on them! Lol**


	3. Goodbye

**Chapter THREE of Moments! Love Nikita, love Michael, love MIKITA! I just want to quickly say THANK YOU to all those who've reviewed, it encourages me to keep writing. So, really thank you, all of you.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't know 'em, don't even know who _does_.**

**Story: Right when Nikita is about to run away from Division.**

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><p>"Nikita, it's suicide," Michael argued, grabbing her wrist, forcing her to look at him. She had to be going out of her mind; this whole idea was dangerous just <em>talking<em> about it. Nikita was smart, she knew better, but Division's killing Daniel frayed her state of mind. The stages of grief, Michael knew them well. He had experienced them when Kasim killed his wife and daughter, and now Nikita was beginning to go through them.

"No Michael, _staying_ in Division is suicide!" she argued. "They've taken away our lives! Can't go anywhere we want, we can't say whatever we want… we can't fall in love…"

She regrets the last word. But at the same time, she didn't care. She knew she shouldn't bring up their brief 'relationship', whatever you wanted to call it, so soon after Daniel had been killed. Michael had known about Daniel for a short while before Division found out, and confronted Nikita about. She shrugged it off, thinking it wasn't a big deal. Daniel wasn't distracting her from her 'job', she was an excellent agent, but Michael and Division thought otherwise. But now Daniel was gone, and nothing was really keeping Michael and Nikita apart. They'd take the Black Ops group down and live peaceful lives.

Michael shook his head at her argument, choosing to ignore the last four words she said. "Nikita, they've given you a second chance at life. You owe it to Percy-"

"I owe him nothing!" Nikita hissed dangerously, wrenching her wrists from his grasp. "Look at yourself Michael. You know Percy is corrupt, but you turn a blind eye and do what he says. Why?"

"Nikita…" Michael warned. She continued, ignoring him entirely.

"Just answer the damn question Michael!" she exclaimed. Michael stood directly in front of her, towering over her. Yet, she wasn't afraid. Not of Michael. Never Michael.

"You know why!" he shouted, his anger slipping from the tight leash he always held it on. "Percy saved me. He gave me a purpose. Percy is giving me the chance to get revenge for my family by finding Kasim. And all he asks in return is for me to serve my country."

"He didn't save you Michael," Nikita said softly. "You saved yourself. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for. And as for that 'purpose'… Michael, he makes you, and everyone else kill innocent people! And for what? Some extra money to cushion his chair? Come on Michael, you're smarter than that!"

"So are you," he said after a while. "Nikita, you're smart enough to realize that this is dangerous. Not to mention extremely stupid." She looked away from him, making him come closer and cup her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. "Just listen to me. And trust me. You'll only end up hurting yourself, and others, if you go through with this. Don't do it Nikita."

She closed her eyes, sighing. "I guess that means you're not coming with me…"

"Nikita have you not been listening to a word I've been saying?" She moved away from him, discontent with how this conversation was going. Not at all how she planned. But then again, what did she expect? He was Michael, Division's second and Percy's most loyal soldier. "Nikita, even if you did run, Division would still find you. You have a tracker, remember?"

The femme fatale turned to him, smiling slyly. "I found a way to remove it," she assured. "I also took enough lessons from Birkhoff to know how to manipulate the signal long enough for me to disappear." Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. She was going to end up getting herself killed. "Michael…" her voice was soft this time. His eyes opened to see her facing him, a hopeful and pleading look in her eyes. "Come with me. Please."

He wanted to. God he wanted to. To just take her hand, run away, and never look back. Live normal lives like normal people, without having to kill someone on a moment's notice. Sure, they'd always be looking over their shoulders, watching for Division. But Michael had a feeling it would be worth it. Running everyday for the rest of his life would be completely worth it… if he was with her…

But what about the recruits? Amanda would rip them apart, Percy wouldn't care about them even more – not that he did now – and Birkhoff… who would watch out for him?

"I can't…"

Nikita blinked away the tears before he had a chance to see them. She would not allow him to see her weak. "Ok," she said softly, nodding her head slightly. Swallowing roughly, she allowed Michael to wrap his arms around her, and allowed herself to lean her head against his chest. It was a moment of weakness that neither wanted to end, because once it was over, they would have to say goodbye. And that would hurt more than any torture, hit, or gunshot wound.

"I have to go…" Nikita finally whispered after a while. "Division will get suspicious of you if you're the last one I see before leaving." Michael nodded, letting her go from his arms but not his heart. Damn, she had no idea what this was going to do to him.

"Be careful Nikita," he finally said as she reached the door. "Please, for me, be careful." She turned to him and nodded.

"Always, Michael."

And then she was gone.

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><p><strong>So what did you think? I kinda get the feeling that this isn't my best work...<strong>


	4. Deported

**Is it just me, or is Season 2 just completely EPIC?**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Nikita, do you really think I'd be writing fanfictions? My fictions would be realities!**

**Story: Based off a Season 1 deleted scene from episode 17: Nikita is still at Division, an agent, and she and Michael have returned from St. Petersburg. Percy congratulates them for the success of the mission, then drops the bomb that Nikita will be relocated, long term, to Chicago... by Michael's recommendation. What I believe happened after that...**

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><p>"We need to talk," Michael said firmly, but his posture was anything but demanding. Nikita, as if sensing this, kept her gaze away from him as she continued moving back and forth in her room, packing for this impromptu mission.<p>

"I don't feel like talking," she said briskly. Michael nodded, even though she didn't see it.

"Then will you at least listen?" he asked softly, showing a bit of the regret he felt for his actions. Nikita faltered at the sincerity of his voice, but recovered, turning to him.

"I don't really feel like listening either," she said smartly, before returning to her opened suitcase. Closing his eyes and sighing, Michael dragged out her name.

"Nikita… just… just let me explain," he pleaded. He didn't want things to end this way between them. Other than Birkhoff, Nikita was the only person Michael truly trusted. And besides Elizabeth, the only person he truly loved. And that's why he had to put as much distance between them as possible. That's why he told Percy to send her to Chicago.

"I don't need an explanation Michael," Nikita countered. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to pack for _Chicago_." Her voice dripped with disgust as she said the city's name. She went to brush past him, but Michael grabbed her arm. Nikita quickly elbowed his stomach, but Michael didn't release his grip. Instead, he wrapped both arms around her, and spun her around, pinning her to the wall. Nikita, not to be defeated, headbutted him, taking him by surprise. Michael let her go as he stumbled back, holding his head. She swung at him, but Michael blocked all of her punches, meeting her fist for fist. Finally, he grabbed her arm and swung her around, tossing her on the bed. They both remained in their spots, breathing heavily and eyeing each other warily. Nikita pushed herself up, ignoring her body's protest, and nodded slowly.

Relieved, Michael took in a breath before beginning. "Nikita, it's been five years since…" his voice cut off as he fought the torment the memory brought. "For five years, I cut the world out and then… you came to Division." Nikita looked up at him, startled at the implied meaning, but remained silent. Michael's back was to her as he continued. "You brought me back, and I haven't felt this way since… since Elizabeth."

"Michael…" Nikita said softly, standing up. He ignored her, pushing himself to continue before he closed in again.

"At first I hated you for it. It felt like I was betraying her by feeling anything for you, for thinking about you the way I do. I tried… I tried so damn hard to ignore it, but damn it Nikita." He turned halfway, so she could only see his profile. "You made it impossible." Nikita walked to him until she was arm's length from him, giving him space but being close enough for support. His face turned to her completely. "I'm not the kind of relationship person anymore."

Nikita looked at him sadly. "That doesn't mean anything-"

"I can't make you happy!" Michael shouted, turning to her completely. "Not when I'm still trying to get closure over my dead wife, not when all I want is revenge!" He stopped, catching his breath as he walked past her, unable to face her anymore. Withholding tears, Nikita turned and stared at his back. He was slowly calming down, but refused to look at her. "Nikita… I promise you, that when Kasim is dead, we _will_ have something," he said, looking out the window. "But until then I can't…"

"Move forward, I know." The resignation in her voice spoke volumes, and it cut Michael deep. He turned back to her, and the look on her face made him even more upset.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," he stated. Nikita smiled sadly.

"I know that too."

He wasn't sure what took over him, but he took three large steps towards her, pulling her close and pressing, more like smashing, his lips onto hers. It was the opposite of St. Petersburg; that kiss had started simple and sweet as they quickly learned about each other, and then quickly turned to passion. But this one started passionate and slowly turned sweet and gentle, leaving Nikita's heart aching, weeping at the love she felt in that moment. Michael's hand softly caressed her cheek, before moving to her hair.

He backed away, with Nikita's eyes still closed. "I'm sorry," he sighed. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him, before nodding and taking a few steps back. With a sigh of her own, she turned to her stuff.

"Well, this stuff isn't going to pack itself," she said, abruptly changing the entire 'scene'. She continued packing, so she didn't see Michael nod his agreement.

"I'll let you get to it," he agreed, his mind wondering if that kiss had just happened. Her change of subject had him doubting it; it had been a clean slam back to reality and it left him (emotionally) disoriented. Michael walked to her bedroom door and paused. "Nikita… please be careful. Remember, it's just a cover," he reminded her. "Those people you'll be forming relations with… they can't know about Division. And they can't get too close."

Michael felt the irony of the words. He was being a hypocrite in that moment, for he had done the exact thing he was currently telling her not to do. And by Nikita's sudden stiffness in posture, he knew that she realized that as well.

No more words to be said, Michael walked down the hall and left Nikita's apartment. Upon hearing her door close shut, Nikita wearily sat down on the bed, clutching a shirt to her chest. It was one of Michael's – the one she had worn when she was taking care of him when he had a cold. She stayed overnight due to the impromptu rainstorm and, since she had no clothes, Michael gave her one of his shirts.

Nikita forgot to give it back and, though she wouldn't admit it, was glad she did. It was comforting during the long and lonely nights; it smelled just like him.

Plus, it was so comfortable.

But now, it would just be a reminder of what could not be – not for a while. Who knew if Michael would ever find Kasim, or if Percy would even let him have revenge? A dream, one that had been in her hands back in Russia, had now slipped through her fingers.

And now she was alone. Again.

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><p><strong>These new episodes have had me squealing like a little girl on a sugar rush. But next week... <em>Cassandra<em> is here... I don't even know the character yet, and I already hate her. I swear, if Michael and Nikita break up because of her... I will call Amanda and have her send Roan to cancel, then clean her.**

**Muahahahaha!**

**Anywho... review? Please.. You know you want to!**

**;)**


	5. Disrupted

**A/n: Okay, so I LOVED last night's (11/4/11) episode. I especially liked the scene where Nikita drugged Michael. Why that scene, you ask? Well, if you look back to Chapter 2-Sick in this lovely fic I am writing, you will see that on 6/7/11, I wrote the exact same scene! Well not EXACTLY the same, but the concept of Nikita drugging him, and Michael being pissed about it was me! I'm not going to lie, I started jumping up and down like a little school girl when I saw that. so Craig, if you're reading this, wanna give me a job writing for _Nikita_? =)**

**Okay, here is the annoying but necessary disclaimer: Even though I wrote the drugging scene four months before it actually aired, I do not own _Nikita_. Sniffle, sniffle...**

**Story: Takes place in the beginning of Season 1, Episode 18 _Into the Dark_. One part is made up completely, you'll notice right away, and author credit (which I should have written before but failed to) goes to Muddy Poodle. But the rest is all from the show. (.**

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><p><strong>Moment 5 - Disrupted<strong>

Blinking against the sun's light that poured into the spacious room, Nikita rolled over in bed only to find the pillow beside her empty and cold. Her eyes narrowed for a few moments before she turned back to her previous spot. She fought a smile as she watched a half-dressed Michael attempt to silently leave the lair in his bare feet. His formerly crisp, grey, collared shirt was now demoted to a wrinkled ball of clothing that he had wrapped in his leather jacket. His belt was held in his other hand, explaining the slight sag in his pants. Nikita silently pushed herself up, leaning against her elbow and resting her head on her hand, she grinned.

"For the record Michael?" called Nikita, breaking the silence and relishing Michael's jolt of surprise at the sound of her voice. "You are terrible at the walk of shame."

Michael seemed to recover quickly enough. "Good morning," he greeted sheepishly, his lips creasing into an irresistibly bashful smile. He seemed to hover hesitantly in the doorway, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to another.

Half of her wanted to sigh in exasperation at his maddening uncertainty, but the other half of her found this uncharacteristic shyness nothing short of enchanting. The beginning part of a relationship was always the fun part, the honeymoon stage, but for these two, it was somewhat new for both of them.

Deciding he needed an extra 'push' of encouragement, Nikita tapped her fingers invitingly on the empty space on the bed, next to her, and held back another smile at his shameless eagerness to comply.

His lips against hers were warm, soft, and reminiscent of the suggestive and lingering tenderness from the previous night. A bit too enthusiastic, Nikita threw her elbow around his neck, deepening the kiss and pulling him closer until his chest was flush against hers.

There was a deeper sense of urgency now in the way that his lips caressed hers and Nikita clung to him, determined to mold her body against his. Her hands gripped his strong shoulders, then the sinewy muscles lining his arms, then back up to play with the short-cropped hair brushing the nape of his neck. Michael's moved up from her thigh, to brushing her waist, before caressing her back. But he soon pulled away, much to her disappointment. He chuckled against her lips, before a seriousness and regretfullness took over. "I should go," he murmured softly, still very close to her, and Nikita looked up at him with complete attention. "It's is too dangerous."

"For who?" she purred lightly, tilting her head alluringly to the side.

"I have a tracker implanted, remember?" Michael said, a bit of mocking and teasing detectable in his voice. Nikita only smiled.

"Yes," she agreed. "And _I_ have a signal jammer." She pulled him back for another kiss, one Michael all too easily agreed to. This time it was Nikita who pulled away, playfulness in her eyes. "Or… we could just take it out completely," she added, smacking his butt. Michael jumped in surprise, though considering it was Nikita he was with he shouldn't have, but pride made him quickly hid it behind a sarcastic remark.

"Ow, and I'm sure that will… arouse suspicion." His smile softened the retort, but Nikita simply grinned up at him.

"Let's hope."

"Nikita, I'm serious," Michael tried again, moving to get up, but Nikita held tight to him. She leaned up, reaching to pull his mouth to hers once more.

"Yes, I know. Very serious. Michael is always so serious." Their lips met again briefly, making Michael temporarily forget what he had been trying to do all morning. When he pulled back, he went off topic completely, giving Nikita a short term victory.

"When are you going to tell Alex about us?"

Nikita sighed and shook her head. "Not now," she stated, Michael pressing a kiss to her hand. She bit back a smile at how endearing she found the gesture. "She's under a lot of pressure right now… I don't know if she can handle any big surprises…"

Smiling once more, Nikita leaned upwards to kiss Michael, smiling upon feeling his response. Her hands dug into his hair, and his hands brought her closer to him. And this was going to go somewhere very quickly-

"Nikita?" Both assassins' eyes shot open. Immediately springing into action, they leapt off the bed and grabbed their guns, aiming them at the entrance. One gun was pointing back, coming out only a few seconds later.

"Wait, wait!" Nikita exclaimed, not wanting any unnecessary bloodshed. Especially not one of an ally, though stupid Owen was for not calling first. But it was as if the two men completely ignored the half-naked Nikita.

"Drop your gun," Michael demanded, sounding almost robotic. It partially amazed Nikita how he was able to go from romantic love machine to lethal assassin.

"Drop yours," Owen shot back. Nikita stepped in between them, knowing neither one of them would fire if there was a chance of shooting her. She held back an eyeroll as she sensed Michael readjusting his aim while seeing Owen do the same.

"Owen… what the _hell_ are you doing here?" she demanded, not just angry due to the invasion but to the…disruption… of earlier activities.

"Well, I came to talk to you," Owen said, as if discussing a sports game. His gun motioned to Michael, his voice taking a hard tone. "What's _he_ doing here?"

Nikita inwardly sighed, that explained Owen's unwillingness to disarm. He thought Michael was still Division's loyal second-in-command. "He's with me," Nikita assured, but Owen still didn't drop the gun. Looking at both of them, she gently- with firmness behind it- said, "Both of you, put your weapons down."

Michael's gun remained up as his face was hard. Owen seemed uncertain, only willing to lower his gun after Michael did. With exasperation, Nikita glared at the two male assassins. "Down boys, _now!_" she shouted, feeling like she was scolding two dogs. '_Men and their need to be the alpha male,_' Nikita mentally scoffed.

After a few more seconds of a staredown, Michael lowered his gun, Owen following suit. '_Now that that's out of the way…_' Nikita thought to herself, looking back at Owen. "I'm going to ask you again," she warned, still angry about her and Michael's first 'morning after' being ruined. "What are you doing here?"

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><p><strong>I thought about writing the rest of the scene, but decided against it. It didn't seem right to me. But if enough people want me to, I'll put it up.<strong>

**So I hoped you enjoyed. In fact you can tell me how much you enjoyed it by writing a little thing called a review! =) Oh, and did I mention I wrote the drugging scene four months before it aired?**


	6. Reunited Part 1

**A/n: Well, here is chapter six of **_**'Moments'**_**. I was going to post a scene from the show, but this came to me and sprouted out in such a hurry that I **_**had**_** to post it. And if you get chance, read my other Nikita story **_**'Patriarch'**_**. Please? :)**

**Disclaimer: NO. Would I be wasting my time on fanfiction if I owned _Nikita_? O.o**

**Story: Three months or so after the events of 2x08**-_**'London Calling'**_**. Part 1 of 2. Title says all.**

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><p>Michael looked down at the gunmen who lay on the ground, unmoving. He wasn't exactly sure how he and Nikita had managed to take them down. The mercenaries took them completely by surprise, at a moment when they were weak and their guard was down. Seven against five wasn't exactly the best odds, but they'd managed. They always did.<p>

His gaze shifted discreetly to Nikita, eyes roaming her to make sure she was ok and unharmed. She was tucking her gun back in the back of her pants before she began speaking into her earpiece, calling Birkhoff to send the exfil. After assuring himself that she was ok, he moved his eyes away.

It had been nearly three months since Nikita had walked away from him in London. After a time, he began to understand why she did it, but what _she_didn't understand was that Michael didn't want a relationship with Cassandra.

He wanted one with Nikita.

"You ok?" she asked abruptly, snapping Michael out of his train of thought.

"Yeah," he nodded after a quick self assessment. He hadn't even thought of checking himself. "You?"

Nikita smiled weakly and nodded. "Perfect." He relaxed at her answer. Knowing that she was alright was all that mattered to him at that point.

Their eyes met for a moment, Michael opening his mouth to say something but his voice failed him. He wanted to tell her that he chose her. As far as Nikita knew, he and Cassandra had resumed their relationship— fact Michael tried to counter many times, but was always interrupted. Nikita was the one who broke the connection, turning towards the entrance of the empty warehouse. "Birkhoff's sending the drones to get us out of here. They should be here in about five minutes."

Finally seeing a chance, five minutes of no distractions, Michael thought it the perfect time to set the record straight. "Nikita," he called out, and she stopped walking, still not facing him. There was so much to tell her, but for the life of him, Michael couldn't find any words. He went to try again, but he stopped and froze when he saw something shift in his peripheral vision. He glanced over and saw one of the gunmen dragging himself across the floor, reaching out for the gun that had fallen out of his grasp. He gripped it tightly and pointed it straight at her. At Nikita.

_"No!"_

Michael lifted his gun to fire as Nikita turned to see what he was yelling about. Michael aimed, three shots echoing in the warehouse before the Gogol mercenary lay unmoving.

Michael watched the man for a few seconds, making sure he was really dead this time. Satisfied, he holstered his gun, the adrenaline leaving him shaking slightly.

"Michael…" Her voice was soft, and made him turn around almost immediately.

"Are you alrig-" His voice cut off harshly as the sight hit him full force. It was the fact that she was suddenly so pale, though it did register in his mind. It wasn't the fear in her eyes, though it added even more fear in himself. It wasn't any of that. No, it was the red spot on her shirt, over her abdomen, that was growing bigger. Nikita looked up at him from her wound before she fell to the ground.

"Nikita!"

Michael caught her in his arms before she hit the floor. Gently placing her down on the floor, he tore off his jacket and crumpled it into a ball, pressing it to her wound. She whimpered, making Michael wince. He knew it hurt, and he hated causing her pain, but if it kept her alive…

"Nikita, stay with me. Help is on the way, ok?" He faintly heard the engine of Birkhoff's drone planes off in the distance. But they sounded so far away. Would they get here in time?

Nikita's eyes were looking directly up at the ceiling, avoiding Michael's gaze. Her eyelids fluttered closed every now and than, and what worried Michael was that each time they stayed closed for a few more seconds.

He got up on his knees and leaned over her, trying to get her to focus on him. He brushed a strand of her dark hair out of her face, leaving his hand cupping her cheek.

"Nikita? Come on, please don't do this. Stay with me, Nikita." She, with a great amount of effort, brought her hand up to the side of his cheek before covering the one he had on her own cheek. Michael could feel and see her try to squeeze his hand, but he felt no pressure. She barely had any strength left in her.

He was losing her.

Shaking with fear, cold, he didn't know what, he looked into her eyes, trying to give her (and himself) something to focus on. "Nikita," he breathed, fighting his tears. "I love you." There. He had said it. Of course, he wanted to tell her his decision in better circumstances, but it was giant possibility that if he didn't tell her now, he might never be able to. "I love you Nikita. Stay with me. _Please._"

He saw Nikita struggle to get her mouth to open, and when she was unable to, it hit Michael that the life was slipping from her. She couldn't respond, and she desperately wanted to. To tell him she loved him too.

But her eyes moved away from his gaze back to the ceiling above them, closing as her head lolled to the side. Michael could physically feel a breath leave her body, and he almost completely lost it, no longer able to hold back his tears. They fell onto Nikita's pale skin, and left a salty taste in his mouth.

_"Please Nikita."_

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><p><strong>An: Ah, I bet you were expecting a happy gooey reunion, huh? Well TOO BAD!**

**Jk. Seriously, I'm kidding.**

**Anyway, I wasn't expecting a cliffie to come out of this, but don't worry. As I said, this a two-parter. But I'm also thinking of maybe making a story on it's own. Expanding on the situation. Hmm…**

**Well, tell me what you think.**  
><strong>;)<strong>


	7. Nightmare

**A/n: I was planning to put Reunited, part 2 up, but it's not done yet and I haven't posted in so long. So here's this for now, shorter than usual, but hopefully satisfying.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Nikita_ now, but hope I will someday. (Then it can continue FOREVER!)**

**Story: Takes place between 2x04-_Partners_ and 2x05-_Looking Glass_. Michael has a nightmare.**

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><p>Everything was in place, there would be no problem messing this Op for Division. Their target's name was Henry Jenson, a French ambassador who was being protected by Division. He and Amanda went way back, both conspirators against Percy. Nikita would engage him in conversation, Birkhoff monitoring them. Michael would take the shot.<p>

He walked away from Nikita minutes ago, heading towards the staging area. He had about half an hour to get there and set up, until Nikita arrived with Jenson. They were on radio silence for now, for the sake of discretion and to not tip off Division.

Which is why Michael was confused when his phone started ringing. He stood at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and answered the call. "Birkhoff, I'm not there yet," he said, his brows narrowing.

"I'm not Birkhoff." Michael's eyes widened; he could feel his heart slow down at the sound of the voice, an overload of emotions filling him. Panic, anger, confusion, desperation, and fear flooded his system. He knew that voice. It haunted his dreams for ten years.

It was Kasim.

But… that wasn't… possible. Nikita had killed him. Hadn't she? Michael hadn't gotten far when she pulled the trigger, he heard the gunshot. She told him that Kasim was dead. "You're dead," Michael said dumbly, his voice hoarse. Kasim chuckled over the line, making Michael's eyes dart around his surroundings, looking for the terrorist.

"It's called a 'false sense of security', Michael," Kasim countered, smugness evident in his voice. "Besides, did you ever see my body with your own eyes?" There was a pause before he continued. "Your girlfriend, Nikita I believe her name is? ... She missed any vital parts of my body. Probably from the grief she was feeling for you. I am alive and well."

Michael's fingers gripped the cell phone tightly. "Where is Birkhoff?" he demanded, his voice clipped and lethal. He wasn't going to let Kasim hurt anyone else.

"Don't worry about your technician, he is safe," Kasim assured. Michael ran a hand through his hair.

"What do you want?"

In an office, somewhere in Russia, Kasim leaned forward on his desk, smiling into the phone. He watched his computer screen with great interest, seeing Michael's frantic movements through satellite images. "Tell me Michael… how much do you love Nikita?"

Michael felt his body go numb. This was Kasim, and Kasim always got even. Nikita had kidnapped him and handed him over to Michael, then 'killed' him.

Nikita…

He didn't think, he just reacted. The phone was left to fall onto the road as Michael spun around and ran back towards the park. He didn't care if the whole Op was blown to pieces, he didn't _care_. As he pushed past people, shoving them out of his way, ignoring their complaints and protests, running as fast as his body would take him, all he could was '_Please not her. Please, PLEASE not her!_'

She was no longer at the bench, and Michael could feel dread creeping into his soul. His eyes frantically looked around for Nikita. Where was she?

His eyes moving to the North, and he could see her hair swinging left and right as she walked. A smile came to his lips as he realized she was ok, his feet moving without him realizing it, carrying him to her in a light jog. Not even twenty feet from her, Michael went to call her name when his peripheral vision raised a red flag.

That man coming on the path next to the one they were on, why did he continue to glance at Nikita. The two paths were coming to an intersection, and the man reached into his pocket-

No…

"_NIKITA!_"

Nikita spun around, eyes confused to see Michael running towards her. What was he-?

Movement registered to her left, and she went for her gun. A shot was fired. Michael's body stopped of its' own accord, nearly throwing him off balance. His eyes watched as Nikita froze, the pain growing in her chest. Another shot sounded, hitting her in her abdomen this time, and she fell to the ground.

"_NO!_"

Michael's body shot up to a sitting position as he panted, breathing deeply. His eyes darted around the dark room, uncertainty clouding his mind. Slowly, the fog cleared and he took in the familiar bed, the sliding doors, the furniture. He was in their room.

'_It was only a dream…_'

He fell back to the bed, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he could see the coming sunrise before turning to look at the sleeping woman next to him. Her face was relaxed, eyes closed, her lips curled in a smile. She was totally at peace. A soft smile came onto Michael's face as he leaned on his elbow, watching her sleep. A quiet 'mhmm' came from Nikita's throat, eliciting a chuckle from Michael. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering for longer than necessary.

Pulling back, his gaze swept over her face, watching as her eyes slowly opened, her smile remaining. "Morning," Michael murmured. Nikita smiled up at him, snuggling deeper within the covers.

"Good morning," she replied, burying her head in his chest. Wrapping his arms around her, Michael brought Nikita as close to him as possible. She was safe, and alive.

And he would die to protect her.

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><p><strong>An: Huh... I keep having Nikita get shot. Hmm...**

**Ugh, I can't wait until January 6! The (SPOILER ALERT!) Michael vs Owen fight has me all excited.**

**(End Spoiler)**

**But, seriously, the way Owen kept flirting with Nikita made me sick. And I think she was flirting back! And I wanted to punch Owen for the way he kept interrupting the Mikita goodness.**

**Anyway... review? Please?**


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